


Across the Ocean

by mythology1746



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 16:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11211816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythology1746/pseuds/mythology1746
Summary: Anya and Dmitry met Katherine Plumber in France once, and seek her out once they've moved to New York City.





	Across the Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetad. It's kind of just something that I decided to write one afternoon. I apologize if the quality isn't what it could be. Hope you enjoy it anyway ^_^

_Ten years ago, the tragic news of Tsar Nicholas II of Russia’s death jolted the world. In the midst of the Great War, the death of a monarch might not have been as significant as it would have been in peacetime, but the Romanov patriarch was not the only royal to be killed. Indeed, his wife, four daughters, and son died alongside the leader of Russia._

_In the decade that has passed, Russia has rebranded as the Soviet Union, and the monarchy was disbanded, replaced with a communist regime. Little in the way of real news has reached us here in the United States._

_To the great surprise of us all, the last living Romanov, the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna, announced that she would be offering reward for the safe return of her granddaughter: The Grand Duchess Anastasia Nicholaevna. (Anastasia was the youngest of the Tsar’s daughter, and the second-youngest child.)_

_Almost immediately, Europe began to search for this lost Romanov. Hundreds of young women have come forward to declare themselves the so-called “Lost Princess”, though all have been declared charlatans. The Soviet Union has neglected to comment about the possibility, though it would not be inconceivable that they are worried; the political ramifications of a Romanov heir still being alive would be extreme._

_As the weeks have passed and more and more girls have presented themselves, it’s become clear that if Anastasia is still alive, she’s not going to come forward. More than likely, Anastasia died with the rest of her family. May she rest in peace._

_Her Majesty Maria Feodorvna has called an end to the search; she has announced that the reward offered for Anastasia’s return will instead be donated to charity._

 

New York City was nothing like Petersburg or Paris. The city bustled with people busy in their own worlds, hurrying from one place to another, with little regard for their own surroundings. The streets were crowded and loud, with not only the commuters but also people selling things on corners—papers, food, really anything. While there had been street sellers back in Petersburg (and maybe in Paris that had gone unseen), they had operated out of quiet alleys where the soldiers couldn’t see.

She and Dmitry had left Paris shortly after Anya had said her goodbyes to her grandmother. They’d boarded a ship bound for New York City, carrying the few possessions they had in a single suitcase. The trip had been uneventful, though that was a good thing, she supposed, considering that their last transcontinental journey had involved being shot.

Lucky for them, Dmitry had still had their forged papers from when they’d left and they had been good enough for the people on Ellis Island. And so, she was officially Anya Nikol, at least in the eyes of everyone else. In her heart, she would always be Anastasia.

A cold, blustery day in late February found Anya in an unfamiliar part of Manhattan, searching for the address of she’d been given by a man at the New York Sun. In the weeks since arriving, Anya had deliberated whether or not to look up the woman from France. Ultimately, she had decided that Katherine Plumber must’ve been genuine when she’d offered her name and place of work.

Anya wasn’t sure what she was hoping for by seeking Katherine out. She’d met the woman only once—at a café on the River Seine, while trying to decide whether or not she and Dmitry should travel to America. Anya had noticed that Katherine was an American when she spoke, and after a brief conversation in which she’d mentioned their intention to head to America, Katherine had offered to meet them in New York City. It had been incredibly kind, but Anya hadn’t really thought about it until they’d arrived in America.

New York was wonderful, but it was a massive culture shock. Dmitry had managed to find work at a paper mill, but he frequently complained about his difficulty understanding his coworkers. Anya could sympathize; while she did have a fair working knowledge of the English language, she often found herself unable to keep up with the fast-paced way everyone spoke. Even as she attempted to teach Dmitry the basics of the language, she was struggling with communication.

The men at the newspaper office had been helpful, at least after a lot of patience. Quite possibly, they had just wanted to get Anya out of the office, but at least they had given her an address to find Katherine at, though it did seem strange how readily they’d handed out a coworker’s personal information.

Anya found herself on streets much nicer than anything near the apartment she and Dmitry were renting. The building itself was very beautiful, with clean, even bricks outside.

Once inside, Anya found herself in a beautiful lobby with wood paneling and bronze trim. There were two lifts, next to which was what appeared to be many cubbyholes; on the other side of the room, there was an empty desk.

In between the lifts was a directory. Anya couldn’t find the name _Katherine_ on it anywhere, nor anyone with the last name _Plumber_ , which was her second guess for how she’d be listed, if she were married (which was likely, since Katherine appeared to be at least a little older than Anya herself.)

As Anya skimmed through the names again, a man entered the building. He wore a nice suit; his hair was dark under his hat, and he had a very square face.

“Excuse me,” Anya said, as he crossed the lobby. “Do you know if a woman named Katherine Plumber lives here?

The guy stepped closer to her and gave her a once over, eyebrows rising. “Are you a friend of hers? I’ve never seen you ‘round before.”

He spoke quickly, like many others Anya had had to deal with since arriving in the city, and had a fairly strong accent, which made her ability to understand him even worse. She stood there for a second, probably looking like a moron, while she tried to decipher what he’d said.

“She is…I met her in Paris. She offered to meet in New York. Some men told me she lives here.” She paused. “I am Anya.”

She offered him her hand, and he gave it a firm shake. “Jack Kelly. Katherine’s my wife, actually. She’s not home right now, but she should be gettin’ back soon. You’re welcome to come up and wait for her.”

Anya paused in confusion. “Are…you are married, but she has a different surname?”

Jack Kelly grinned. “She uses ‘Plumber’ as a professional name—she’s made good with that name, so she kept using it. Everywhere she’s not working she’s Katherine Kelly.”

“I would be grateful if I could wait for her.”

He motioned at Anya and moved to press the button for the lift. After a moment, the doors opened; the two of them entered, and Jack nodded at the young boy, who pressed the button for the fifth floor.

They rode up in silence, and it occurred to Anya that she had no idea if this man was telling the truth. Perhaps he actually dangerous; she had no way of knowing. Still, Anya was pretty sure she’d be able to handle herself if things got ugly; New Yorkers were tough, but they had nothing on the starving Russians she’d dealt with in the past.

Either way, Anya’s worries were unfounded. Almost as soon as she’d followed Jack Kelly into his apartment, the doors to the second lift opened and Katherine exited onto the floor. She looked very frustrated, and the pile of books she was carrying was wobbling precariously.

Once Katherine glanced at Anya, though, she smiled, looking surprised. Jack rushed past Anya to grab the top half off the stack, some of which looked just about ready to fall.

“Anya!” Katherine set the rest of the books on a small table next to the door and stripped off her coat. “I’m so happy to see that you’ve made it to New York! Is Dmitry here?” She looked around the apartment as though he was hiding somewhere inside.

“Dmitry is work. Working. But he is also in the city.”

“That’s wonderful! Why don’t you come sit down? Jack, can you make Anya some tea?”

Anya followed Katherine into a little kitchen, Jack—divesting himself of the books on what appeared to be their sitting room table—trailing behind them. The apartment was lovely, with plain furniture; there were various tables made from oak, and a leather couch with matching chairs. The kitchen table was made of a lighter wood, finely polished but full of scuffs and burn mars that clearly showed it was well-used.

Katherine took a seat opposite Anya. “How long have you been here? Where are you guys staying—have you found a good apartment? How’s Dmitry handling all the English?”

Before Anya could process all of the questions, Jack laughed from the other side of the kitchen. “Ace, don’t suffocate the poor girl with all those questions. Gotta get outta Reporter Mode.”

“Oh.” Katherine blushed. “Sorry, Anya. How about, How did you find my apartment?”

“I searched for The Sun office after I found the newspaper. I had go to the office building, and they said you were not there regular. Regularly. They gave me this address and said my luck would be better coming here.”

Jack came over with a tray laden with tea, cups, and three slices of cake. He set it down between them before taking a seat. He began pouring tea. “I found her looking for you downstairs.”

“I can’t believe they just gave you our address without asking me. They can be such—” Katherine took a deep breath. “Well, I’m glad you found me. How are you guys adjusting to New York?”

Anya took a sip of tea and closed her eyes for a moment. “To be truthful, it has been somewhat difficult. We had…some money when we arrived”—her grandmother had tried to get them to take more than they did, actually, and had sent a bit over since they’d arrived, but it wasn’t a lot—“and Dmitry has found a job allowing us to keep our flat, but his English is still poor, and I am not a skilled teacher. I have not been able to find a job because I have no background. I had just…been wanting a friend.”

“Oh, Anya! Of course we can be friends. You’re welcome over here whenever you want. Maybe we can even help you and Dmitry with English. It can’t be easy to try and teach something you barely know.”

Jack leaned forward slightly and said something very quickly. Anya was sure he wasn’t trying to be rude, but she couldn’t really catch what he’d said—maybe something about interviewing paper.

Katherine’s eyes lit up. “That’s a wonderful idea!” She turned to Anya. “I’m a reporter, and I’ve been working on a story about immigration, kind of as a follow up to my last article. If I could interview you and Dmitry—not many people are willing to speak to me, and I have trouble with the language barriers as it is. It would be wonderful if you two would talk to me!”

“A reporter?” Anya felt her blood run cold. “I…I don’t—”

“You could remain anonymous,” Katherine added quickly. “I wouldn’t need any pictures or anything, I just want to talk about your story. I think it could be really important.”

Anya could feel her apprehension, but it seemed so important to Katherine. “I…I will think about it. I do not know sure if Dmitry will want to.” She glanced at the clock, hanging over the sink. “Thank you. For your time. I should leave so I am home when Dmitry arrives.”

“Of course! Let me know about the interview—there’s usually a man downstairs in the afternoon, you can drop off a message.”

Anya nodded her thanks, and made her way out of the apartment.

 

Two weeks later, Anya was back at Katherine’s building, Dmitry in tow. He had been very reluctant to do an interview about their life—it made him think too much about those few days they’d spent between her grandmother believe she was Anastasia and when he had decided to leave—but he did like the idea of having someone else to talk to. He eventually relented on the premise that it would put them into Katherine’s good graces, but he made sure to insist they refuse to answer any questions that might steer into what he called “the Anastasia direction.” (“She’s probably very smart, Anya, we wouldn’t want to give her any crazy ideas.”) Not that Anya had been planning on spilling all of her secrets, but Dmitry was very cute when he was concerned.

They rode the lift the fifth floor in comfortable silence. The boy attending the elevator was the same as when she’d been there last, and he gave her a nod and a smile as they exited.

The door opened almost as soon as Anya knocked, and Katherine stood smiling on the other side.

“Anya! Dmitry! Come inside.”

They followed Katherine into the flat; she led them over to the kitchen table, where there was already tea and a couple of pastries set out for them. In the center of the table was a small stack of newspapers.

“Jack is dropping our children off at one of our friends’ so that we don’t have to worry about them.” Katherine paused and looked over at Dmitry. “In case Anya hadn’t said, Jack is my husband.”

Dmitry nodded.

“I know that neither of you are fantastic at English, so if I’m going too fast and don’t notice, just let me know. Really, I wanted to talk about your experiences with leaving your old homes and coming here. We could talk about your life back then and now?”

Anya repeated all of what Katherine had said to Dmitry.

He said, “Why don’t you just tell her about our lives, I guess.”

Anya did most of the talking, translating questions as best she could. Katherine was a very good reporter; she took notes intently, and it felt more like they were having a conversation rather than being interviewed.

Eventually, Jack returned, planting himself in the remaining seat. He didn’t say anything, instead watching Katherine take notes with a strange intensity Anya had never seen before.

By the time Katherine had run out of questions, it was pushing dinnertime.

“Dmitry and I should probably get going,” Anya said.

Jack spoke up for the first time in hours. “Why don’t the two of you stay for dinner?”

“Oh—we could not intrude on your meal.”

“Nonsense,” said Katherine firmly. “It would be rude to send you off without dinner.”

“Besides, I made a casserole that Katherine and I couldn’t hope to eat by ourselves.”

 

Anya and Dmitry’s life didn’t drastically improve, but they did manage to gain a few new friends.

 

_Moving tend to be a very bittersweet experience. Leaving a place that you’ve lived for any significant amount of time is hard, and it’s daunting to transplant your life somewhere new._

_This is nothing compared to being a refugee, chased out of your homeland and forced to move somewhere completely new._

_We as New Yorkers see immigrants every day, but how often do we stop to think about what their lives are really like?_

_I say down with two people who have recently arrived from Russia, fleeing from the new regime like so many others. For the privacy of those I’ve spoken to, all names have been changed for this article, but their stories are unaltered in any other way._

_Russia changed quickly ten years ago. Communism took hold of the country, overthrowing the monarchy that had ruled for three hundred years. While the stated goal of this new reign was to make life better for everyone, it seems like they have not quite succeeded._

_Viktor is a young man that grew up on the streets of Petersburg. It had been only him and his father during the time of the Romanovs, but when the Bolsheviks took hold, his father—a radical liberal—was tossed into a work camp and killed for his views. He had learned to be a conman, and for years, that was how he spent his life: making the quick dollar by cheatings others out of their money so that he had enough money to rent a shabby room and purchase just enough food to get by._

_Lucy, on the other hand, hadn’t been in a bad place before the change of government. Her family had been well-to-do, at least in a sense—rich enough that her family was slaughtered during the mass executions that killed almost of the former “upper class.” Through a stroke of good luck, Lucy escaped, and spent the following decade taking odd jobs with the same goal as Viktor: making enough money to have a bed and a meal._

_Eventually, Viktor and Lucy found one another, and with his cleverness and her self-preservation, they managed to raise enough money to smuggle their way out of Russia on one of the last nonmilitary outbound trains to date. They made it to France, and from there, New York City._

_Unfortunately, the City has not welcomed them with open arms. They came over with very little money, essentially leaving them back to finding odd jobs to live in a less well-to-do part of town. While both Viktor and Lucy are skilled, intelligent people, few employers will hire them—after all, what business owner wants to hire people that don’t speak proper English? Never mind how able they may be._

_While Viktor and Lucy’s story might be unique in their specifics, the idea of immigrants struggling in this city is not. The next time you find yourself passing someone that might not be as well off, don’t immediately write them off._

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few quick things:
> 
> I don't think that Dmitry could conceivably speak English. He grew up on poor and on the streets. I cannot fathom how he would've learned to speak the language. I could imagine a young Anastasia had to read, like, Shakespeare in English or something and has some basic understand. I kinda tried to make it seem like she didn't know how to speak the language, but I didn't want to write her speech as though she had a strong Russian accent because it's just bad practice...
> 
> There was originally a scene of Katherine, Anya, and Dmitry meeting in France, but it was.....really terrible. Maybe one day I'll write it properly but I didn't want to post it because of how poorly written it was.


End file.
